


It Can't Be Jealousy What I Feel

by Highlightlover4693



Category: Motorcycling RPF
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-02-01 18:57:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12710949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Highlightlover4693/pseuds/Highlightlover4693
Summary: Since that picture was posted, Valentino's feels have become an absolute chaos. Marc having a boyfriend shouldn't have affected him at all, in the first place. So what is this uneasiness that he feels?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god, I can't believe myself, seriously. How did I ended up writing about these two AGAIN? 
> 
> Anyway, talking with Jules9326 on It's Always The Same Between Us, the prospect of a jealous Vale turned out to be really interesting, so I decided to write a shot whose idea had been turning in my head for a while. I really, really hope you like it.  
> It is supposed to take part during this past last Grand Prix ;)
> 
> I really hope I can be a little bit more active during this break. Because we need to survive somehow haha.
> 
> Big, big hugs for all of you, loves❤

**It Can't Be Jealousy What I Feel**

 

 

It's the fourth time this fucking week he feels like taking the closest, more random object besides him and throwing it against the wall, tearing it apart or shattering it against the ground. Fortunately this time he's almost alone on the living room, and doesn't have to struggle that hard to hide the bugging, beyond infuriating, drilling sensation that he knows reflects perfectly on his features every single time the topic comes up.

Vale doesn't know what was worse, hearing it for the first time or being constantly reminded of it. He has been considering for real turning it all off for a few days. Shut down the TV, the radio, all the social media and even throw the newspaper into the deepest corner of the kitchen's bin without even reading a single word of it.

Yeah, that sounds pretty appealing right now.

He's almost unable of repressing the involuntary groan, of keeping deep down inside him the snarl that is knocking on his throat, waiting to be released. The clear, cheerful voices of a few of the Academy boys reverberate from the kitchen, just a few meters away, being the only sound that comes a bit close, not enough though, of silencing the news that are running on the TV.

He doesn't want to. He really doesn't. But in the end, his eyes feel themselves dragged towards it. The high-pitched tone of the journalist, that is way too enthusiastic, comments The Picture™.

That fucking picture appears on the screen, the bloody photograph that was released, posted two days ago, turning the world upside down and that is constantly making his guts churn with an uncomfortable feeling he can't indentify. Like an impulse that makes him angry without a reason, that makes him clench his fists without realizing it and his heart beat irregularly for a few, almost imperceptible seconds.

His eyes focus irremediably on the already known image. The frame closes around the two figures, only separated by a wooden fence. No doubt the captured moment took place on one of those Motocross tracks Marc frequents. And he can't deny, though, if it had been anyone else, that the scene would be endearing, even beautiful. But he can't help but wanting to roll his eyes every time it appears in front of him, every time he has Marc and his new _boyfriend_ on sight.

The young rider, with his beanie on, due to the cold temperatures of November leans on the rail, while at the other side, an infuriatingly, obnoxiously young and handsome guy rest his forehead against the Spanish rider's, awfully close, awfully intimate and making Vale want to tear his own hair off, even though he isn't even sure why.

But yeah, as you can imagine the moment the picture was up on Marc' instagram it was kind of madness. But Valentino can't say he was surprised. Despite what happened between them, he could affirm he knew Marc quite well. They had spend enough time together in the past to enjoy a personal knowledge of the other's personality and the Spaniard had given away, very discreetly of course but enough for Vale to realize, that he wasn't just interested in women.

Valentino himself would swear he had been the objective of that flirtation more than once, that there was something different in the way Marc had always looked at him. It brings the memory of that day, three years ago fresh to his mind all over again.

That day he had invited Marc to the ranch.

He can imagine the empty kitchen, recall the scent of coffee lingering in the air while the two of them waited for it to be ready. He remembers the younger gorgeously leaning on the counter top while Vale described the little remodeling they have been making on the ranch recently. And of course, as usual, Marc looked at him attentively with those piercing dark eyes, full of worship, making Vale's insides catch on fire and pulling him closer towards his fellow rider as if attracted by an invisible, magnetic force.

He recalls perfectly how the Spaniard's eyes glistened, traveling all over his face until they stopped, fixated on his lips.

He didn't knew why, if it was the incredible feeling of sharing his home, his ranch with Marc, of having him there, or if it was result of the inexplicable connection they seemed to have. But he recalls perfectly founding himself leaning in, trapping Marc against the marble counter top until their lips were just inches apart, clouding his senses and his rational thinking, only leaving the almost irrepressible desire to taste.

At least, until one of his friends' voices had sounded from the corridor, approaching dangerously, and forcing them to put some, previously nearly nonexistent, distance between them.

Since then, there wasn't a single moment the scene didn't appear wide and clear on his brain every time he looked at Marc. Maybe that was what had turned everything awkward, complicated, difficult...maybe it was what had turned that connection into conflict. Not knowing how to handle that. Not that Vale hadn't been with a man before, but never with another rider...that was forbidden. Prohibited by himself. Too messy. Too... _complicated_.

But nonetheless, now, it looked like a wasted opportunity. A lost chance. And it infuriated him even more, the fact that the option had been there but was no longer accessible. Because someone else had taken it.

"It's everywhere" Vale was suddenly grateful to hear Luca's voice entering the living room, followed closely by Morbidelli, Migno and Baldasarri, each one of them placing carefully a plate on the table before letting themselves fall on the sofa besides Vale. If they hadn't appeared he's pretty positive he would had probably kicked the television himself until the screen was black, not showing anymore the source of his uneasiness.

"Yeah" he lets out lowly, bitterly. Because it was indeed everywhere. He couldn't even scroll down Instagram neither Twitter anymore without coming across the image, digging deeper into the wound. And he could swear he would go insane.

"It has been quite a shock for everyone in the paddock, but I don't know why it didn't surprise me that much" Andrea commented, shrugging, while he took a piece of pizza and bit it.

"Yeah, me too, I mean there had always been some rumours out there, but didn't think they were actually true" Franco said as he handed a glass towards Vale. He took the offered object absently because yeah, he neither had he, until it had been shoved into his face.

"Did you know?" Lorenzo's question takes him aback, breaking the stupor and foggines his mind had been involved into for the last few minutes.

"What?" He had heard the question perfectly, but he wanted to make sure it meant what he thought it meant.

"That Marc was into boys?" The young boy added, not even battling an eyelid as the gazes from the other two riders turn their attention towards him.

His throat closes without warning and it feels as if answering to that was the hardest task he had seen himself in front of. Because, really, did he know? _Or didn't he want to know?_

"I had no idea" he goes for a casual shrug, focusing his eyes on anything but the boys, not sure if he was managing to portray that indifference he wants so desperately to feel.  
If they notice that there is something strange going on with his feelings, neither of them say anything. And Vale finds himself being really grateful for that.

Nonetheless, in the television, the comments on the photo continue, displaying some other pictures of Marc's partner. And Vale feels dangerously close to snort out loud once again because yeah, he _had_ to be a model, he _had_ to be Marc's age, and he _must_ have a personality outstanding enough to have caught Marc's eye.

But to put the cherry on top, they show the caption the Spanish rider had written below the fucking picture, although Vale already knows what's written before even listening the journalist read it. " _Thank you for making a good day even better"_ along with the blue colored tag. And Vale has definitely had enough.

Almost out of reflex, his hand takes hold of the remote and presses a random number, alleviated when the topic finally vanishes off his sight. But the movement drags his students' attention towards him once again and he simply shrugs, forcing himself to downplay it. 

"I couldn't care less about Marc's love life" he lets out, eyes fixed on the strange show running on the TV, hoping they will let go of the thing as soon as possible.

Because maybe the statement isn't or doesn't sound as convincing has he would have liked it to. But it would be true, eventually. If his career had taught him anything, it was the he could get over things. He had to get over things.

So it would turn out true, it _had_ to be true.

 

 ~*~

 

Before Vale even realized it, the two weeks since Malaysia passing by like lightning, they were arriving at Valencia. Ready for the last round of this year. Another fruitless, vain year.

But he has to look at the bright side. He has had fun, nonetheless. Maybe not in every race but in a fair amount of them. So that would have to do, at least until March came and a new season began. Until a new opportunity presented before him. Maybe the last one. So he really had to take it. That would be the biggest motivation this break, he's sure of that.

With some thoughts still spinning around his head, he walks down the paddock, heading towards the last press conference of this year. That's the only good thing he sees of the season finishing. No more media, no more microphones, cameras neither witty journalists waiting for a polemic answer. Just he, his bikes, his academy boys and his ranch. That was all he needed to go through the winter.

He's almost content with the prospect, it is almost enough to put him in a good mood.

Until Uccio taps him on the shoulder, accompanying the gesture of pointing at the horizon with a scornful smirk. And Vale doesn't think he has ever felt his guts churn as violently, as painfully, as the moment he saw the scene in front of him. He didn't think it possible, but it's even worse that The Picture™.

Because there they are. The two of them, just a few meters away. Marc and that ridiculously handsome guy (Vale has to stop the urge to roll his eyes at the sight of the boy wearing a Pull & Bear hoodie with Marc's initials, because really, could it get cheesier than that?) walk shoulder to shoulder, wide smiles in both of their stupidly pretty faces.

The young stranger is a little bit taller than the Spanish rider, and obviously, has the typical male model complexion. He has dark blonde hair, obnoxiously, perfectly styled. A silver, thin ring-like piercing decorates one side of his obviously flawless nose, matching the identical one that hangs on the upper part of his ear. When he speaks and says something Vale doesn't even catch, Marc looks up at him with glistening eyes and the italian simply wants to smash his head against the nearest wall to make the confusingly disturbing image disappear.

He tightens his jaw, because he really doesn't know how to react in this moment. He really doesn't know how to call the uneasy feelings of anxiety that go through his veins every single time he sees, he acknowledges the Spaniard that close, that intimate with someone else.

It's driving him insane. But the most logical answer is not something he's willing to admit. It can't be jealousy. Why would it be?

"Hey Vale" he hadn't noticed that while he had been rambling internally that they had reached their destination, the door to the press conference's room. And that sound that suddenly broke through his ears is Marc's voice, and that is his hand extended, offered before him. His brain commands his own arm to move out of reflex before the invitation of greeting is removed.

And there it is.

As always. When their hands closes around one another he feels electric bolts shaking his nerves, the usual pleasing chills warming up his skin, and every sound as if left on the background when his own blue eyes find Marc's incredibly dark ones.

He really doesn't want to think about why he's savoring the little contact this much today. But he is. And...

The clearing of Uccio's throat wakes him up from the foggy atmosphere that had settled around him for a few milliseconds. Vale blinks, retreaving his hand from the grasp, feeling Marc lessening the pressure, as well.

He sees the Spaniard's vivid gaze flickering between him and the guy. But before something happens that will give away his confusing feelings, he continues walking, not even throwing another look towards the Honda rider's direction for the rest of the afternoon.

 

 

  
Unfortunately, the uncomfortable reminder is indeed everywhere he looks at. And it's starting to infuriate him, testing his patience to the extreme and making his ocasional jittery mood sharper than ever. Cause if the camera focuses on the grandstands the italian can glimpse messages of support for Marc, and even worse, if the MotoGP organization shows the Spaniard's box he can see "his boyfriend" sitting on the chair, watching everything than happens on track, smiling and waving and Valentino pretty much wants to choke someone.

That makes the question appear for the millionth time in his damned head. Why the fuck is he feeling so shitty because of this? Why can't he let go of the topic? Besides, it is not as if something would have happened between Marc and him. He sighs, having asked himself that question more than once. What would have happened if 2015 had never taken place?

He sighs tiredly once again, rubbing a clean towel all over his bitter expression. More over, he should have already accepted that Marc wouldn't stay single forever. He almost snorts at the thought. Definitely not with that face, and those eyes, and those lips, that personality and that smile...yeah, he should have already assumed that this situation would take place sooner or later.

But he had never actually considerated that it would be a... _boy_.

Somehow it makes him even more stressed, more anxious. Don't take him wrong, he has nothing against it, but it affects him even deeper, cause it is like being constantly smashed in the face.

That day at his ranch has been playing on his head almost continuously these past days and the resentment isn't going away. It's growing and growing nonstop and he's more than sure that the weekend wouldn't end without him shouting at someone.

"Camera" Uccio nudges him and he almost scowls, because he's in the "perfect" mood for being recorded. Nonetheless, he looks directly at the black device and shows the best smile he can manage, accompanying the gesture with a wave and a wink. Thank God, the image quickly changes and he can come back to his shady self once again "What's going on?"

Valentino deliberately ignores his friend's question and extends his hand for the helmet, wanting nothing more than being on track once again, far from everything else.

Just he and his bike.

 

~*~

_**Valencia, Sunday Evening** _

_**FIM MotoGP Awards** _

 

Vale scowls at his reflection in the mirror, because today he can´t help feeling that little bit too much self-conscious. Most of the days, he avoids looking at himself for too long, just the necessary to cover the basic necessities.

But it is as if these last few days, on the last race weekend of this season, he had taken a real glimpse at his reflected self and realized how different, how much older he looks. And it is something added to the lately increasingly long list of things that annoy him to no end.

He doesn’t want to analyse why once again, but he can’t deny it is as if the back of his mind was comparing himself with a certain someone without his consent.

He shakes his head, as if the simple gesture was going to clear up his thoughts and make the confusing, depressing, damned emotions stop.

He tightens the elegant tie around his neck, until it is almost painful. Strangely, the prospect of keeping the pressure high until he faints doesn´t seems that bad now. It would make him avoid the obnoxious gala, and the nerve-wracking interviews and polite, fake greetings and meaningless conversations. Sighing, he turns around, smothering the slippery fabric of his tux, eyeing his comfy bed, that tonight looks more appealing than ever. _If only I could bury under the sheets and don´t wake up until tomorrow._

However, he has already assumed that wish wouldn´t be granted. The next second, there is an impatient knock on his door which he almost groans at. Uccio appears behind it, gesturing him to hurry up. Yeah, exactly what he needs to calm down his mood.

 

 

The ceremony is even worse than last year. Everything is somehow duller and the atmosphere more grey. He had headed directly towards his seat, only supplying thin lipped smiles and slight nods. But when they appear he prefers not even looking at their direction. He doesn’t trust his acting skills at all. But eventually the sight enters his range of vision. Marc and that guy talk excitedly, too close, sharing knowing looks and stolen smirks. And a pang shakes Vale guts out of nowhere. Because that was how the two of them used to interact. That was the way Marc used to stare at him. But not anymore.

"Yeah, they are disgusting" Uccio comments besides him, throwing the two young men a nasty glare. And it makes Valentino frown. Somehow, he can discern his friend is not saying that just because it is Marc. After all, Uccio had never been exactly tolerant, neither open-minded. It was definitely one of the reasons that had pushed him to hide his casual, short encounters with guys.

He clenches his jaw when Marc steals a quick peck from his boyfriend and Vale this time, can't help a bitter snort, earning a confused look from those sitting alongside him, that he more or less cover up with a cough.

However, it doesn't hides the hollow that is dangerously being carved inside his chest. He can't stand this anymore. Maybe it is _that_. Maybe this fire that runs through his veins and turns his soul into ashes is just that. Jealousy. The word repulses him as much as feeling it idoes.

The rest of the Awards Ceremony passes by like a torturous agony. He plays with his fingers, fidgeting with the hem of his jacket. But the last straw is when the Spaniard gets called to the scenario to pick up his medal. No way he can't avoid looking at him anymore.

Because Valentino wasn't willing to admit it. He swore himself he wouldn't look at him that way. But boy, he can't help biting his lip unconsciously, cause the younger does look absolutely stunning in his suit. His mind travels vaguely to his first years in MotoGP, when he himself had been up there alongside the Honda rider, smiling back at him, feeling their eyes connect as if their pupils were dragged by magnets.

But he's no longer there. Things are no longer that way and it's even more unbearable that he thought it would.

 

 

"I need a drink" that was the first thing he told Uccio as the lights finally went off and everyone started to get on their feet. He slides his gaze all over the place, his mind desperately looking for a way out. When he finally localizes it, he obliges his legs to move towards. He doesn't even know who he is passing by, and that is probably the first mistake of the night, because after a few steps, in between the swirls of bodies and heads, Vale finds himself looking into those chocolate dark eyes that seem to tranfix him.

His mouth is suddenly uneasily dry and his insides execute a strange manoeuvre. If he could he would had already taken his irregular beating heart out of his chest. He would suffer less.

But Marc is looking at him now, and it paralyzes Valentino momentarily, because his vivid gaze holds a kind of...longing he wouldn't have ever expected. As if they were yearning for some kind of reaction out of him. But the next moment, that guy claims Marc's attention and the brief connection is interrupted. Valentino doesn't know if he should be grateful or mad. But that's another internal question he's not willing to answer right now.

Fortunately, he gets himself out of the mess, grabbing the first champagne glass he gets a hold of from the glistening tray a bartender carries around.

Without thinking, he swallows the whole pale content in one go, slightly grimacing, because there is no way he will get the consolation he hoped for out of alcohol. If anything, it is making him feel even more miserable. He gets rid of the glass as soon as he can, feeling the slight pressure on his belly a good excuse to absent a moment.

"I'm going to the bathroom" he comments Uccio and Luca, that look at him with an inquisitive gleam in his eyes that is making him even more inclined to take a break. Before they have time to let out any kind of response, he walks towards the exit, wishing he could really leave already without the promise of being right back.

It takes him some questions, going up and down and asking for directions before he finds the luxurious toilets.

He presses his hands against the cold, hard surface of marble, leaning in the row of sinks, contemplating the tired image he reflects on the large mirror.

Yeah, he wouldn't mind hiding there for the rest of the night. But if he thought his mood couldn't get even worse, once again, he's proven wrong.

The string of giggles starts distant, faint. But it keeps on getting stronger, until he can hear it clearly and it bursts the door open. And he almost can't help the groan inside. Because he would recognize that laugh anywhere.

Of course. Of fucking course, Marc and his boyfriend appear through the entry of the bathroom, hand in hand, making Vale roll his eyes helplessly. Yeah, once again, exactly what he needed.

As he would have expected, the giggles die the moment their owners register his presence, making the previous silence Vale had been enjoying before reign again, only this time, ten times more tense. Talk about awkward.

"Ciao, Vale" the Spaniard butlers out after some too long seconds of hesitation. He nods while he busies himself by washing his hands in the sink, only allowing his gaze a quick glance at the two boys. Because truth must be told, he's not sure he's going to be able to take his eyes off Marc once he starts staring at him.

He is grateful for the cold water against the burning skin of his hands. Would splash his whole being with it if he could.

"Eh...I'll...you know" Marc's partner gets in one of the stalls. But if anything, it makes the atmosphere even thicker. As it uses to be between the Spanish rider and him, now.

He takes a piece of paper and dries his hands, maybe a bit more hastily than necessary while his brain searches desperately for something to say. Fortunately, within milliseconds, his mind seems to realize he still hadn't congratulated Marc on his title. He clears his throat, succeeding at getting the attention of the Repsol rider, that is infuriatingly, gorgeously leaning on the tiles that cover the walls.

"You know, congrats, world champion" he goes for a light tone, but fails spectacularly. He had never been that good at masking his emotions, after all.

"Thank you" luckily, Marc seems to appreciate his effort, giving him one of those innocent, gleeful, blinding smiles Vale used to love. And still does. _Okay, enough._

Before he smashes his head in desperation, the door of the stall opens again, accompanied by the sound of the flushed toilet.

"Are you going to...?" The model guy points at the compartments behind him, eagerly looking at Marc for a answer.

"Yea-Yeah, why don't you head back to the party? I'll be there in a minute" the younger rider suggests, surprisingly Vale because really, didn't thought those two would let go of each other for a moment now.

Nontheless, the other boy disappears and Valentino doesn't think he has felt before as trapped as now. No way he's going to go back walking by that guy's side. But there is no way either he's going to get stuck there with his biggest rival for another few minutes. In the end, without another option, he goes for the lattest. At least he knows Marc.

He rearranges his tie, already a bit messy because of how much he had been fidgeting with it over the night. Before he knows it, Marc is besides him, washing his hands on the sink and maybe he's uncomfortable too, because he's fucking biting his lip in a too tempting way and Vale is sure he's not going to make it sane tonight.

"You did great too" Marc whispers, and Valentino has to think for a moment what he must be referring to. Because really?

"If you mean the championship, I wouldn't consider 5th place as doing great" he chuckles humorlessly, feeling his veins fill up with resentment all over again. Is Marc fucking kidding him? "You know, is good to know that you have dropped your standards about me that much"

He doesn't know what had gotten into him, but he does know that he doesn't want pity. And even less from Marc. He has some dignity left, after all.

"I-I didn't mean it like that!" The Spaniard's head jerkes up, his pretty face reflecting bewilderment in the mirror. And Vale can't help but feel a bit satisfied.

"Sure you didn't" the snarky remark is out his mouth before he has time to stop it. He really doesn't know why he is getting this defensive all of a sudden. But it feels as if all the frustration and disappointment had finally exploded within him. He doesn't need Marc's feigned kindness.

Before he registers the movement, a firm hand closes around his wrist, twisting him around, stopping him from leaving and getting rid of those emotions that are starting to suffocate him.

"You know I didn't mean it like that. You know I never would" a fierceness he had never seen before on Marc's eyes make his skin tingle, as if that strong but soft hand around his lower arm wasn't enough. But he holds the younger gaze, sensing sparks bursting in his own eyes "You know I'm not like that"

He reluctantly gets his wrist off the grasp, getting beyond worked up, because Marc is dangerously close to him now, and is looking hazardously attractive, with that challenging sparkle on his eyes and that deep staring.  
However, he forces his brain to come up with a reply, absolutely not willing to lose this too.

"I really don't know how you are anymore, to be honest" he lets out with feigned nonchalantly, he's not going to give the Spaniard the satisfaction of showing that he might care. "But please, don't waste your time with me. Your boyfriend must be craving for you, don't make him wait"

The bitter, resented tone Vale says the words in surprise even himself, and he doesn't like one bit the way Marc's expression had contorted with a stroke of realization. _Please don't say it._

"Are you...jealous?" The question comes out tinted with incredulity, as if Marc wasn't ready to believe it himself.

Valentino doesn't remember the last time he had blushed. Because no. He definitely isn't. He tries to cover his anxiety once again by letting out a low laugh that lacks sincerity, let alone amusement. But he goes for it, he goes for his smug, careless facade. It seems the best way to get out of this one.

"Don't flutter yourself, Marquez. As if..." he even allows himself to get closer to Marc, taking the control of the situation, as he has done so many times on his life. And this is not going to be different "Don't tell me you really think you would have a chance with me"

The hurt that breaks through the Spaniard's eyes is indeed terribly heartbreaking and definitely not what he had expected. But his next movement is the confirmation that he has gone too far.

Before he knows it, Marc has slapped him.

And he doesn't know which one of them looks more stunned the seconds that follow.

That's it.

As if feeling like continuing this string of senseless events and irated words, he simply sets all his emotions free. He doesn't know if it has been the glass of champagne he has swallowed without a second thought, his bad results, or the fact that he is beyond wasted and tired of faking that doesn't care about anything. But before he can takes a hold of himself, it happens. Vale doesn't know who moves first. He would like to think both of them did it simultaneously. But their lips crash so forcefully he gets to pin the younger back against the wall with the force of his impulse.

He would have expected Marc to push him away and even maybe slap him again, but he definitely doesn't expects the way the Repsol rider completely melts into him. And Valentino can assure that not any other kiss that he has ever exchanged feels like this one. In a sense, he's glad they hadn't kissed on his ranch, all those years ago, cause it wouldn't have felt this good now. Somehow, Marc's wonderful lips feel better than he thought they would, they mold against his so perfectly that he thinks they were made for each other. The contact is so burning and fervent it rivalizes with the high temperature of his hit cheek. But he doesn't care, not one bit, because the kiss feels like a cure and a punishment all together. He feels Marc fisting his tie and tugging eagerly, pulling him even closer and Valentino really has to resist the urge of smirking. _I bet your boyfriend wouldn't like this, not one bit._

But when the kiss gets even more intense, if it was possible, his brain is no longer able of creating coherent thoughts. He simply forgets were he is and what is he doing, he simply presses his palms besides Marc's head, leans into him as much as he can. He simply let's his intoxicating scent fill his nostrils, lets their tongues graze as slowly as possible, he simply listen to the swallowed little moans and delighted gasps. He simply enjoys having him so incredibly close, so intimate, so special...and it feels bloody fantastic.

When he eventually sees himself in the desperate need for air, he breaks apart ever so slightly, foreheads still joined and the incredible touch of Marc's fingertips lingering in his jaw. Their ragged breathings mix and he needs a few seconds before he opens his eyes.

And he's pretty sure he's never going to forget the sight he has in front, now. The way Marc's big, dark eyes look up at him through his thick eye lashes make his heart skip another beat, keeping even more irregular its already crazy pace. But he's also sure that their astonishment and awe reflects on the other face like a mirror. But he really needs to keep his gaze away from those lips that shout for him harder than ever, that lay there beyond tempting. The image is soon removed from the reality as he feels himself being pushed back by the pressure of two hands on his chest. The air hits their overheated bodies, but the loss of warmth is soon forgotten, because Valentino doesn't remember seeing the Spaniard as troubled and desperate as he looks now. His gaze reflect a strange kind of fear tinted with anger he couldn't find a name for.

"Ho-how dare y..." the words come out strangled, hoarse, but Vale doesn't think he would do much better of he tried to speak now.

All of a sudden, someone makes it inside the bathroom, not even looking at them and it makes him realize that they are still in a public place. Without another word and thankful for the distraction, he heads outside.

Yes, his body and his mind are in the most absolute chaos. But he can't deny he feels much better now, as if the pressure that was chocking him had finally been lifted. Because he feels no longer forgotten, no longer...kind of replaced. Marc has kissed him back, he had felt the younger's emotion behind that kiss. And it almost makes him feel like smiling.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

After what seemed like hours, some splashes on his face with cold water and heavy breaths, Marc finally composed himself enough to get out of the bathroom. Nonetheless, he has to gather all his strength to carry himself back to the party.

His legs are still shaking a little bit and the crazy rhythm his heart has adopted hadn't been calmed yet. He simply can't believe what had just happened. It feels like being inside a dream, as if any moment now the fog would dissapear and he would wake up on his bed.

But no, it isn't a dream, because every time he licks his lips he can still savour _him_ perfectly. The sweetness of champagne mixed with something that he can identify as just Valentino's.

Midway, he sees himself in the need of stopping again, of leaning his back against the neat walls and rub his temples with the heel of his palm, utterly overwhelmed and grateful that some waiters passing by with empty trays are the only thing that breaks the silence.

Every single time he recalls the exact moment of that mind blowing kiss it feels as if his knees turned into jelly and his whole being was electrified. He takes a shuddering breath, feeling conflicted beyond measure and thoughts about to make his mind collapse. God, he can't even remember how many times he had fantasized about that moment in the past, how many times he had dreamt of having, of feeling the italian that close. If it had taken place that day, three years ago, he is pretty sure everything would have been different. But now it couldn't be worst timing.

But fuck, Valentino was _jealous_.

He was jealous and Marc needs to support his weigh even more against the wall cause with that prospect in mind he's more than positive that his legs are finally going to give up.

Now that he had seemed able to turn the page, to get over his stupid, childish craving. Now that he had found...his throat stings and he doesn't even dare to think like that about Aaron but...the only word that comes to his mind is "replacement" and he doesn't think he has ever been this repulsed by his own thoughts.

"Marc!" His lungs fill up abruptly when he hears his name being called, taking him out of the hopeless mess his head has turned into. Fortunately, it's just Alex "There you are! What the hell have you been doing? Your team is looking for you!"

He swallows forcefully, obliging some wetness down his annoyingly dry throat, unconsciously gripping his tie and trying to fix it. God, he can see himself reflected on the metallic doors of the luxurious place and he curses at how messy his hair looks. _As if an Italian had run his delicate, skillful hands through it just some minutes ago_.

Without warning, his flesh catches on fire at the memory and he's tempted to take a few ice cubes from the waiters' buckets and press it against every single spot of exposed skin on his body.

"Hey, are you okay?" Alex asks abruptly when he gets a closer glimpse of his older brother, his usually gleeful expression morphing into a slight gesture of concern. Come on, he can't look that bad, right?

"Y-yeah, just a bit...you know" he swears under his breath for not finding the correct words, but how the heck can he cover up that Valentino, _The_ Valentino, his childhood hero, favourite rider ever, at least until a few years ago, had just snogged him breathless?

Somehow, he's still waiting for a sign that indicates what he's experiencing is not real. Because it would never seem completely real.

"Already gone too far with the champagne?" he almost wants to sigh with relief when Alex misunderstoods is nauseous-looking expression. He simpy nods nearly imperceptibly and tries for one of his usual laughs, that, truth must be told, doesn't sound sincere at all "Come on, Aaron was worried, thought you had got stuck on the bathroom"

In that moment, his head spins violently, at how different his reaction to his boyfriend's name is to the one of a few days ago. His memory goes two months back, to one of those compromises with Pull & Bear, when they had met.

The model had caught his eye since the beginning. He had appeared as a good way to relax, to disconnect. He was nice and attractive and...easy. Yeah, an easy way to show his whole self to the world. And don't take him wrong, he had become very, very fond of him but...It was simply...not the same.

Marc feels the terrible impulse to punch himself. Because although he promised he wouldn't, at the end, the comparison is inevitable.

Alex practically has to drag him back to the party, make sure he walks, and he's grateful, because he's pretty sure he wouldn't have been able to do it by himself.

"Hey, what has taken you so long?" He almost flinches at the sound of _his_ voice and Marc swears he has never, EVER, felt that utterly guilty before. Aaron looks at him expectantly, playfully...and he's pretty sure he's going to be sick.

That bastard...that awfully, obnoxiously beautiful fucking italian...He always finds the best ways to hit him where it hurts the most.

He simply can't believe, the overwhelming power Valentino still has over him. How he has reduced him to a confused, conflicted mess with the smallest gesture.

"Hey, you okay?" The model asks, reaching for his hand and it shooks him once again. Cause the pleasing tingling is no longer there. As if all that he had worked so hard to feel towards him had vanished at the littlest touch.

"Ye-yeah, I'm fine just a bit overwhelmed with everything at the moment, you know..." he forces a reassuring smile around his lips, trying desperately to bury deep down the memories that keep on haunting him.

Fortunately, he's not questioned further, but the kiss that follows makes him ten times more uncomfortable, if it was possible. Right in that moment he almost feels like crying, cause it is as if his body was recognizing that this isn't the good one. It feels awfully close to a spare kiss. The one you get when you can't have the one you want.  
  
And it is so unfair. So horribly unfair.

As if sensing his discomfort, the boy pulls back quickly, eyeing him with a confused frown that one makes Marc feel even worse.

"Seriously, are you sure you are okay?" Not even the concerned tone can make his anxiety grow. He's sure it has reached its peak.

God, what he wouldn't do to be on his bike right now, racing and forgetting about everything. But, seeing that it is something that no way is going to happen right now, he tries for a convincing nod and reaches for a glass of champagne from one of the tables, going for the closest, most similar solution; alcohol.

~*~

  
It almost works. It is almost enough. But when he wakes up on Monday noon, what he had been trying so desperately to forget is the first thing that comes to his mind.

The sun rays that filter across the ajar curtains and that rest firmly against his cheekbone revive perfectly the heat from the italian's fingertips, the soft brush of the sheets against his skin decorate the surface with goosebumps and it makes him eye the male limb that is sprawled across his chest, the scent that hits his nostrils, that he can't deny anymore thought, is not from who he would have enjoyed the most.

Of course, Aaron is there. Serene, stable, secure... _Right_. Yeah, that would be the perfectly fitting word his brain had designated to the boy.

 _Simply right_.

However, a stray voice, that at the beginning had been hardly anything more than a whisper, is gaining more and more strength as the hours pass by, shouting _Wrong_ loud and clear.

Yes, his heart can be an annoying shit sometimes. And apparently, it wasn't going to stop anytime soon.

He carefully pushes the slender arm aside, rubbing his eyes forcefully, desperately willing his mind and his feelings to clear up and stop messing with him. But no, that isn't happening either.

Absently, he paces barefoot towards the motorhome's kitchen, pouring himself a glass of juice and drinking it empty within a minute.

He stares at the slightly orange-tinted bottom, the rest of the liquid swirls as much as his crazy thoughts. He needs to talk about this with someone. He needs to share this with someone worthy of his trust or he's more than sure he's going to end up exploding.

Without thinking too much about it, he picks up his phone, his fingertip already hovering over the desired name, when he hears a yawn besides him that almost makes him drop the device.

"Good morning" Aaron mumbles, going straight towards him with a little smile on his lips.

Marc swallows the lump that has been forming on his throat since the moment he opened his eyes, while he sees himself helplessly enveloped in an embrace. And this is even more cruel, cause every time he looks at the model he can't help but want to slap himself. _Like I slapped Valentino. Before he kissed me._ Setting his whole body on fire in a way no other kiss has ever done.

He feels his hairs standing, his flesh activating, agitating, aching for that contact that had made him feel alive, a rush of adrenaline he had thought only racing could provide. But no, feeling Valentino Rossi kiss him like that had been like winning a million races all at once. That stunningly overwhelming.

He unconsciously flinches, clenching his jaw and feeling truly, truly terrible. How the hell can something that 24h before had felt so right feel suddenly so wrong?

The uneasiness doesn't go unnoticed to Aaron, that immediately pulls away, frowning. The reaction matches so well the one from last night that Marc curses under his breath. He feels like a monster.

"Okay, what the hell is going on?" The boy asks, eyebrows raised and hands on his hips, his pretty face reflecting an upsetting image he never thought he would see on him.

Marc gulps all over again. He considers for a moment telling the truth, being sincere, cause he has always been terrible at lying. But the mere thought of it makes him recoil from the idea nearly instantly.

Because _I have cheated on you. Oh my fuck, I have cheated on you._

The realization alone repulses him, at how something he had always seen so far, at how something he had never thought he would do, was now his biggest problem. Guess you are never safe from anything.

"N-nothing" he lets out quickly, but unsure. Cause honestly, he has no idea about how to handle this. Absolutely none.

 _Talk to someone._ He desperately needs talking to someone about this before he goes insane. He just can't stand that constant doubt plaguing his mind anymore.

"You know, I think I'll go to see Alex, need to talk about some things about the new season..." he mumbles, almost rolling his eyes at his own words. Yeah, there are his non-existent acting skills.

But it takes him another few seconds and a look at the gaping, disappointed guy that stands in front of him to realize how discouraging, how selfish his speech sounds. _I'm the Champion, the season ended just a few hours ago and yet here I am, not willing to spend a single minute with you_.

Nonetheless, he can't stand this any longer. He simply can stand the company of someone he knows he's hurting. At least not until he figures out a suitable solution. He simply can't.

Without another word, there have been already enough fake ones, he heads towards the room, throwing over his torso the first hoodie he gets a hold of and sliding into his sneakers.

He's dedicating one last glance at himself in the mirror when his gaze falls over the wrinkled suit resting carelessly on the floor. Almost out of reflex he crouches and grasps it, and the scent that scalates towards his nostrils blocks his brain for a fraction of second. Man, how grateful he's for the fact that Aaron hasn't ever been on Valentino's presence. Cause he doesn't even has to get the shirt close to his nose to be enveloped by the italian's familiar, delightful scent. He wonders how at this point guilt hasn't eaten him alive yet.

Yeah, he needs help. As soon as possible.

  
~*~

  
Fortunately, Alex answers almost after the first knock and Marc doesn't hesitate to make it inside the hotel room as fast as he can.

"Hey, good afternoon to you too" Alex chuckles ironically, but his older brother quickly sees his browns knitting. The look on his face must be priceless "Hey, what's wrong?"

He paces around the room. Up and down, right and left. Not able to find a direction that can calm his nerves. God, he hadn't even been this nervous before yesterday's race. What the fuck is wrong with him?

"Alex" with a sigh, he finally lets himself fall in his brother's bed, his agitated vocal chords straining his words, elbows digging into his knees and palms covering his hands until he can't see anything. Without strength to cover it up again he simply lets it out "Alex, Valentino kissed me yesterday"

His little brother stands still, expressionless for a few seconds, blinking repeatedly, as if Marc had spoken in another language.

"What?" He mutters, slowly coming a bit closer, as if afraid to make a brusque move "Valentino...like... _Valentino Rossi?_ "

In another situation he would had probably laughed at his brother's confusion, but in the current context, Marc can't help but glare up at him in exasperation.

"How many Valentinos do you know?" He snarls, fixing his gaze in the carpet, letting his eye follow a pattern he's not truly paying attention to.

"But, when?...How? W-why?" The questions are thrown all at once and Marc smirks bitterly. If only he had all the answers. Strangely exhausted, he falls back, resting his back on the mattress. The ceiling has a distracting design too.

"Yesterday, after the gala. He was in the bathroom too, and when it was just the two of us...I don't know what...We argued and then he kissed me and..." he's aware that he is not making any sense, that he is translating the confusion of his thoughts to his sentences. But he's simply unable of managing better, as if his brain was on constant overdrive.

"Wait, why did you argue? Though you were already over it" Marc feels the fluffy surface dipping slightly as his brother sits next to him, his voice tone sounding louder and more proximate.

"Yeah, I thought so too. But..." he covers his tired eyes with his forearm, the soft fabric of his hoodie shielding his eyes from the light, giving him a little moment of calmness. At least until his minds travel to the moment in question and it feels hot all over. Damn. He can't even say it without getting goosebumps "He was jealous"

"WHAT?" This time the bewilderment reflects perfectly on Alex's innocent, big eyes. Yeah, I refused to believe it too "Wait, because of Aaron?"

Marc nods, slowly, carefully. He's fucked up. Pretty badly, actually. He swears under his breath. Cursing Valentino and all of this, cause this is not how he had planned to celebrate his title. At all.

"What the fuck...? But, I mean...you pushed him away, right? What's the big deal?" His brother questions and yes, the guilt sneaks again into his body when he gathers enough courage to look up. And it seems to be enough for Alex. In the end, he just knows him too well "Oh my...that look. YOU KISSED HIM TOO?"

He buries his face under his hands again, as his heart accelerates its beat.

"I couldn't help it! You know what it's like with him...I simply can't...say no. I-It's Vale" The words leave his mouth straight from the back of his mind, not going through the filter. And he realizes they couldn't be more sincere than that. When it comes to the italian there is nothing he can do.

"Marc...I know how much you have always appreciated him. But, you know he could be messing with you, right?" The possibility thrown seems to be quickly discarded. It didn't make any sense. What could Valentino gain by pulling a couple apart?

His nerve endings start to protest, not standing anymore the stillness, he gets on his feet, returning to the pacing around.

"Marc, do you like Aaron?" Alex's question make him come to a halt, not sure if he fully understands the purpose of it.

Nonetheless, he thinks about it, asks it himself. Does he like Aaron?

"Yeah, I do" he shrugs slightly. It's true, after all. They wouldn't be in this situation if he didn't.

"And do you like Valentino?" Marc doesn't know what scares him the most, the fact that his heart has jumped at the question or how fucking fast his mind has provided the positive answer.

He drowns his gaze into the palms of his hands, tracing the lines with the tip of his finger, feeling as if answering was more challenging than any other race he has seen himself in.

"You know I do" The response comes out even more hoarse than he would have expected it to. But he can't help it. It has make him realize what big of a mess he has gotten himself into.

He gets a glimpse of his brother, momentarily catching a look full of compassion. Great, he must be looking as desperate as he felt.

"Then, you need to figure your feelings out as soon as possible"

Marc nods vaguely, letting out a completely humorless smirk. If only it was that easy. But no, things with Valentino will never be easy.

~*~

He really doesn't know what has gotten into him. He isn't sure he wants to know it. But there he his, his feet taking the direction on their own. Maybe his brain has finally collapsed and his body has taken charge of his actions. If that's the case, he's in trouble.

The confirmation arrives when it sinks in, he's really going there. Marc obliges himself to relax. Chaos wouldn't lead him anywhere. He needed answers and he needed them as soon as possible. Before going insane.

His knuckles hit the door. One. Two. Three times. Maybe a bit too hard. Maybe a bit too desperate. But he just has to wait a few endless seconds, that pretty much seem like hours, until the metallic doorknob twists and the door reveals him.

Holy fuck, when the heck has this seemed a good idea? Someone must be mocking him. Definitely.

Valentino leans on the door, bare chest on display and sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips. And Marc could fucking swear his vivid blue eyes had twinkled the moment they had laid on him.

"What a surprise" the italian comments in his usual teasing tone, making Marc's blood helplessly rush inside his veins "Thought you would be busy"

There it is, the resented, obnoxiously confident voice from last night. He can't stand it. It makes him feel as if constantly being in the spotlight, exposed to judgement. And no, he wouldn't allow it. He already had enough of that on his life.

"Can I come in?" he snarls, visibly startling the italian, who instantly steps aside, but not without giving him a once-over that sets his cheeks awfully quickly on fire. How the hell did his body react that much to the smallest gesture. It was madness.

He enters the motorhome, quickly recognizing that scent that had become one with his suit, and that envelopes again completely. As last night.  
The sound of the door closing almost makes him flinch, the atmosphere suddenly getting hotter, more suffocating.

 _Please put something on_ , he wants to beg, cause if it was hard before he's more than sure that it will be impossible for him to focus if he has that image in front the whole time.

Obviously, Valentino doesn't seem to take to long to realize that, and if possible, his expression turns even more playful. Somehow, it boosts Marc's determination, prompting him to fix his eyes on the italian's face ( _as if that was any less distracting_ ) but anyway, he's not going to give him that satisfaction.

"So what?" The older asks, turning around nonchalantly and sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees and long, nimble fingers lacing together, tracing a rapid pattern one over another. It's the only clue that gives away that he might not be as relaxed as he claims.

Marc unconsciously follows his lead, sitting down as well. But regarding his nerves, and the decreased distance between them, he's not sure if standing up would have been a better option.

" _So what_? That's all you have to say?" He inquires incredulously, not losing for a moment the sight of those eyes, that move all over the furniture, not stopping at any point, as if trying to be constantly distracted. Now he didn't even had the courage to acknowledge what a mess he had made of him?

"What do you want me to say, then?" Valentino shrugs, finally lifting his gaze to lock with his, and of course, momentarily knocking the air out of Marc's lungs.

He forcefully bites his lower lip. Because, yeah, he doesn't even know himself what does he want Vale to do. How he wants him to react.

He really doesn't.

However, the way the italian's eyes travel towards his nipped bottom lip fills his belly with warmth and his limbs with electricity. Maybe this new, sudden fog is what gets the following words out of his mouth.

"Careful Vale, the green doesn't look good on you. Never thought you were the jealous type"

Marc observes curiously how bringing out the topic impulses the italian on his feet, forcing him to look up to follow his moves. Valentino shows off a snarky smile, his gaze suddenly clouding with a hurricane of emotions that he can't identify.

"God, you can't get more arrogant than that, can you? You win the title and everything goes up your head, doesn't it?"

There.

The pun sets his muscles into motion, his blood feels as if it was going to boil inside his body. He can call him whatever he wanted. But never cocky, never overconfident neither smug. Marc couldn't stand that kind of people. He wasn't like that. He would never be like that.

"Don't you ever dare to say that again. You know perfectly that I'm not that kind of person" he finds himself standing up before he knows it, he simply doesn't want to keep himself under Valentino's level. He doesn't want to be unable to keep the eye contact.

If insulting him was the way the italian had to defend himself, to deny his jealousy, he would for sure fight back.

"Maybe not now, but trust me, you will get there" Vale smirks, and Marc wants to punch himself, cause he's incredibly torn between smacking that overwhelmingly hot grin off the Yamaha rider's face or kissing it away.

But before he has had the opportunity to decide, the older recoils, scrapping the back of his neck with his hand, as if all that confidence from a moment ago had evaporated.

"Like you? No, thank you" he spats back, definetely earning a glare now. 

"Thought that was what you admired of me. Oh, wait, none of that was even true, right?" Vale lets out, raising his brow wryly. And he officially can't believe he can still bring that delusion up again.

Marc huffed despite himself, not knowing how to interpret the situation anymore. Was Valentino really jealous or was he just fucking him up? Could he really hate Marc enough to do that? But if it was the first one...jealousy implies some kind of feelings, right?

"You should leave. People will be wondering where you are" and with people Marc knew perfectly who he was referring to. There is the same reaction of last night.

"How do you feel about me?" Although he's the one asking, he's sure they are both as startled when he blurts the question out of nowhere. But he doesn't regret it. He needs to know. Desperately.

Valentino blinks, gaping at him, his slender chest moving irregularly, reflecting his sudden uneven breathing.

"I-I...I feel nothing for you. Though it was clear" he doesn't know if it's the raspy voice he says it in, or the fact that the italian isn't even looking at him, but the words doesn't even hurt. Cause Marc is sure that they are not true. Not in the slightest.

But they do make him incredibly angry. He can't stand anymore that fake nonchalance the older portrays. Because he was even having the nerve to lie to him in the face, to feign that he doesn't care. Oh, how was he was going to prove him wrong.

"You don't even believe that yourself" it's all that manages to get past his lips before he makes them collide against Valentino's. His heartbeat picks up speed like never before, hammering violently against his ribcage, when he feels that lovely heat, that amazing pressure on his mouth, the feeling of the contact being reciprocated with full force.

His body is no longer under rational control, and it surprises him with every movement. He has no control over how his lips automatically part to welcome the italian skillful tongue, he has no control over how his arms circle the older's neck and neither over how his eyes flutter close. It feels like being in a cloud, like being enveloped in fire and breeze all at once. As if he couldn't get enough. This. This is the kind of reaction no one else can get out of him. It had been deeply forgotten. Buried down for two years. And now it was surfacing stronger than ever.

He's lost in that little moment, tasting it and enjoying to the maximum, at least until another wave of guilt shake his insides, leaving him completely breathless.

"You are the one to talk" Valentino whispers against his lips. And yeah, he's right. If someone should feel bad here, that's him.

He backs up almost immediately, desperately wanting to put distance between them as soon as possible. His heart is breaking in two pieces and he doesn't know what to do. Really doesn't.

Valentino looks at him with an almost identical expression of conflict and before he knows it he's being pushed towards the door, not believing what he just did. Again.

"You shouldn't have come" the italian mumbles on his hear, lowly and making Marc bit his lip once again, revolving his guts and making the hair on his flesh stand on end before he's kicked out, left absolutely awestruck on the doorstep. And yeah, this time he couldn't agree more.

Cause he had just made everything worse.

Much, much worse.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, loves. Don't hesitate to share your opinion if you feel like it. Sending your way the biggest hugs❤


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You really can't imagine how sorry I am for not updating sooner, but I've been awfully busy and I'm sorry. God, I hate myself so much for making you wait for so long. But, finally, here you have a continuation. Hope you enjoy and thanks so much for reading. Love you❤

He leans his back against the hard, cold door as soon as it closes. The Spaniard is out of his sight but he can still feel him as if the younger rider was still there. He can still taste his scent and see the desperate look on those eyes if he closes his.

Valentino swallows harshly, as if the spit was suddenly too dense for the decreasing space of his throat.

How had he managed to get them into such a mess? If only his heart hadn't won the battle against his brain last night...maybe then he would have been able to keep his actions on check. But, man, if only their kisses didn't feel that good...

He can't deny it for longer. He was jealous and he couldn't help it. Cause the attraction for Marc hadn't fade. Not in the slightest. Maybe it had been buried for a while, since this strange conflict began. But now it was reaching the surface again and it has gotten to a point where he could no longer hold it back.

The realization creates a pressure on his chest he never thought he could bear.

Because now there was a big, big obstacle. He simply couldn't make Marc's boyfriend disappear off the equation. He even snorts out loud at that definitely too crazy, too dangerous option.

Valentino lets his head rest against the hard door, wishing it could stop functioning, stop spinning with such senseless thoughts.

Just for a moment.

~*~

Fortunately, he only had to go through two days of testing and finally they would part. Each one of them would follow their way and everything would be forgotten.

Yeah, it was for the best. The problem was that, he wasn't completely sure that he wanted to forget it. He really didn't know if he wanted to let go of the fact that Marc clearly felt something for him. He wasn't sure of anything, let alone be capable of it.

He absently made it to his chair in the box, vaguely waving and showing hints of a smile to his team. A new year was beginning, a new opportunity to make things right. The motivation of startling all over again is almost enough to put him in a good mood.

But the moment of calmness, obviously, just lasts a few seconds. He throws a glimpse at the screen besides him, only to find image closing around that certain Spaniard that has been completely flooding his mind lately. As usual, he looks _happy_ as he chats with Santi. Who wouldn't? He's the champion. But Valentino knows him enough to tell that there is a little sparkle there that isn't truly gleeful. And today, the fact that his boyfriend is nowhere in sight doesn't go unnoticed for him, either.

It's a bittersweet taste. Knowing that he has managed to make Marc question his feelings, but there is also a guilty flicker there that shakes his guts ever so slightly. Because he knows that if something is wrong between the young rider and that guy, it's for sure his fault.

"Ciao" Luca's unexpected voice breaks him from his stupor. He glances up to see his little brother making his way through the garage until he reaches his side.

"Hey" he greets back, somehow managing a subtle smile he more or less feels.

The younger places himself in the corner Uccio tends to occupy, and Vale doesn't know why, by he feels much more calm, more relaxed, with Luca there. He wishes he could tell him everything. But his new discovered feelings are something he's not willing to share yet.

"You okay?" His brother inquires, voice a bit unsure with something Vale assumes is concern.

"Yes, perfect. Just a bit worried for the bike" he whispers, going for the most convincing tone he can manage. It's not a lie, after all. It might be the littlest fraction of the things that preocupes him. But a worry, nonetheless.

Still, his biggest concern appears on the screen again, waves at the camera, shows that beautiful smile...and Valentino can't help but stare. Maybe Marc has always admired him. But he can't deny himself, that he really can't deny that he's absolutely in awe with the boy. That talent, that personality... He's for sure something else.

~*~

The two days of test pass by almost as fast as a lap on the circuit. Before he knows it Vale is slowly pulling the zip of his suitcase, mentally checking he's not leaving anything behind, or searching for something to keep his mind occupied, he's not sure. But he really needs to avoid the hollow that is quickly forming inside him, at the prospect of going back home and leaving the championship behind for a few months.

And everything that comes with it.

He doesn't want to think about it, but probably, a certain Spanish rider would be the first thing on that list.

He swallows, harshly, taking his cap from his bedside table and adjusting it over his hair. He really needs to let go of this. Of this whole situation. For his sanity's sake. And for everyone else's.

A knock on his door waits him up from the revolution of thoughts his head is drawn in. His heart beats with a spark of hope, although he's not completely sure why, for the briefest second, but that quickly sinks when he sees Uccio's familiar face peeking from behind the dark painted entry.

"Are you ready?" He asks with a lighter tone than normally. Of course, he's always more than happy to get everyone here out of his sight.

Valentino sighs, thinking for a moment about how tiring and useless is being in constant war with everyone else. Like his friend is. Like he was two years ago. Yeah, useless and absolutely worthless. It has made him lose so many friendships. So many chances. So many people.

The realization, makes him seat on the edge of the bed, feeling the fluffy surface dipping under the pressure of the gesture. It sinks down like his mood is.

"Something wrong?" Uccio demands warily, making Vale almost jump, having nearly forgotten he was still there.

"Nothing. Just need a moment" he mumbles, taking the hoodie from behind him and twisting it in his hand. Not ready yet to put it on.

"Why? Is everything ok-"

"Perfectly fine" he interrupts between gritted teeth, before the other continues asking further. He really isn't in the mood to deal with this right now. He needs a moment alone more than anything else "I'll be out in a minute, just give me a moment, please"

The other italian's face contracts into his usual mask of discontent, but he couldn't care less right now, to be honest. Fortunately, his expression must have been convincing enough for his friend to catch it, because the next second he's closing the door with a thud, the sound reverberating loudly, itching, all over the cold, lonely space.

His heart beats heavily today, as if it was filled with pressure and unwanted weights.

He feels awful, truth must be told. He really doesn't want to leave like this. He really doesn't want to flee, to get away from his problems this cowardly. If he had made a mess, he needed to try his best to put things back together.

He's definitely not running away today.

Not anymore.

~*~

 _Need to take care of something. See you on the airport,_ he types de quick message and hastily press the send button, almost able to picture his friend's face of disapproval, as if he was in front of him.

But he doesn't want to think about his decision deeper. It has already been hard enough to take it, and he fears that if he questions it further he'll end up regretting it. But here he is, at his door, struggling more than he thought he would to knock.

It's to early. _Maybe he isn't even up._

But eventually, he manages to do it, and the few seconds that follow, waiting, are much worse. He's not used to wait. It's almost a foreign concept for him.

Just in the moment he's truly debating if this was a good idea at all, the hinges screech, signaling the door is being opened, sending Valentino's heartbeat into a crazy, chaotic rhythm.

But what he sees, is definitely not what he expected. Marc looks back at him, with...a light, delicate redness that frames those eyes, giving away that he hadn't exactly been celebrating like he should. And it hurts Vale, it really makes him feel beyond miserable. Because he knows he is the cause of that uneasiness.

He still looks as beautiful, he can deny that. Never would. But it's beyond strange on him, as if such a troubled expression didn't belong to that face. That's why he needs to sort this out as soon as possible.

He obliges his brain to work and prepare something useful to say.

"Hey, c-can we talk?" He curses at the trembling of his voice, at the hammering inside his chest and at the shaking of his lungs. He should have already thought about his words. Improvising isn't definitely goint to be as easy as he thought.

But the gesture Marc's pretty features adopt is even less helpful, and again, definitely not fitting.

"N-now you want to talk?" His voice sounds hoarse, and it isn't any sort of help, either, cause he loves hearing that husky hint in Marc's tone. Must have just woken up, or his emotions are so intense they strangle him as much as Vale's do.

"Yeah, I'm not leaving with this...thing going on" he really doesn't know what name this kind of situation should receive, but one thing he knows for sure, though. It needs to end, as soon as possible. Or it would end up consuming them both. Well, their conflict kind of already had, anyway.

But maybe that wasn't the wisest choice of words, cause as soon as they leave his mouth, Marc lets out a hurt snort filled with incredulity.

" _This thing_? Of course, I'm just a thing you need to take of" the Spaniard snorts. And really, regarding their past, when did things start to be so complicated?

Well, he might have the answer for that too, if he thinks about it twice. _My bad, I guess_.

"You know it's not like that" he presses out between gritted teeth. _I'm going insane_. He just knows it. 

"Then how is it, Vale?" The sudden raised volume laced with Marc's words really take him out of guard this time, making his limbs paralyze out of reflex "Please tell me, because I don't think I can deal with _this thing_ anymore"

The broken, deeply desperate emphasis hurts him even more. He really needed to sort it out.

"It's not..." he struggles once again to get the appropriate words out. He needs to keep a cool head, specially if Marc was looking at him with those eyes, in the deepest way he ever remembers being stared at "Can I come in?"

If they are going to talk about this, they are definitely not going to do it on Marc's door, where everyone could see them and start to speculate. Yeah, that would be the last straw. Definitely not needed.

Vale's breath catches on the back of his throat as, if possible, Marc's gaze intensifies when he pulls him inside, closing the door behind him with a dry thud that almost makes him flinch.

"Well?" The straight forward tone in the Repsol rider's tone surprise him endlessly.

And he feels the air drying in his throat all of a sudden, gluing to its walls and making the passing air unbearably scorching and rough. Cause now that he has to, he really doesn't know what to say.

"We need to forget this" he quickly blurts out, and not sure if he means that sincerely. Probably not. _Good job, Valentino._

But the expression on Marc's face breaks him even more. It's like being stabbed over and over again. He almost can't stand it.

Neither of them say a thing during a few seconds, a choking silence, only eventually broken by an exhale sliding out from Marc's lips. Valentino never thought a sigh could be that filled of emotion. It's curious, how encouraging and discouraging, the fact that the Spaniard really feels conflicted, is. It makes Vale feel important and miserable almost simultaneously. A very strange sensation, indeed.

"Yeah, we do, don't we?" The words sound nearly as tired as he does. He takes a few steps towards the couch, Valentino following every single one of his movements attentively, as if his eyes were irremediably drawn to the younger. Nothing new, after all "You should leave, then. This obviously doesn't need more talking"

He would liked to be able to ignore that image. It would have been the perfect moment to finally leave and set both of them free. But somehow, he just can't. It feels as if his feet were firmly glued, nailed to the floor. How bad he would have liked to have regained that control over his body.

"Honestly, can't believe you did this to me. Can't believe we ended up like this" this time, the whisper reaches Valentino's ears perfectly, and he can already feel that fire burning again inside his chest, lighting up his whole body.

"Excuse me? Since when is this my fault?" He lets out incredulously. This blame on his shoulders is the last thing he needs. But the thing that he fears the most, though, is the unbearable fact that it might be true.

"Seriously? You are the one that came claiming my attention when you no longer had it" Marc spats back, showing off all over again that passionate, defensive side of him that Valentino suspects he only gets to witness.

But the words are the ones that get straight towards the deepest part of his soul. Cause he knows they are true, as well.

He hadn't realized until now how his legs, apparently with a life of their own, had moved towards the couch, coming dangerously close to Marc's space. Which could only mean trouble. As usual. This time, he obliges himself to stop and not give in, they have already had enough of that.

And his words has got as stuck as his feet. What can he replay to that?

Nonetheless, his eyes keep on moving, finally, obviously, finding Marc's in a heartbeat. His lungs contract violently when they connect, always with that burning intensity he doubts will ever change. Is something that no matter what, will always be theirs. 

"Could you please stop doing that?" The Spaniard mutters, slowly resting his elbows on his knees, and with a tired expression he never thought Marc's cheerful features could adopt. 

"Doing what?" He manages to ask, completely unsure now if he is catching the meaning of this conversation at all. 

But the reply comes much later and dangerous than Vale had expected, cause within the blink of an eye, the younger is back on his feet, taking a few steps towards him. Short, but long enough to make his instincts awake all over again. To sense his perfume swirling in the air and his body heat on Valentino's range of perception. 

"Messing with me. Being there. No matter what I do or how bad I try to forget you. You always end up appearing once again" the sentences leave Marc's mouth slowly, but clear, and sincere, really sincere.

The fact that surprises Valentino the most, though, is how terribly similar those thoughts are to his. It's almost as if Marc was reading was written within him "But the worst thing is, that the sensations are always the same. The feelings don't fade...and I don't know how to turn them off anymore"

_If only they could be turned off._

He chuckles internally. He wished everything was that simple. 

"Neither do I" he murmurs back almost unconsciously. 

He doesn't expect the spark that flickers on those big, dark eyes as he lets out the implication. Had really Marc thought that he didn't feel something for him? Hadn't it been evident? 

Nonetheless, the question, the desperately needed solution is still awfully hidden, terribly lost. Nearly as much as Valentino is losing himself on the young rider's piercing eyes. Conscious that he's approaching hazardous territory, Vale forces his feet to take a little step back. His head hurts and his lungs stings. This whole situation was impossible since the beginning. 

Still, he senses Marc taking a step closer, setting a smaller distance between them. And before he knows it, warm, soft fingertips are claiming his. Their hands moving on their own, lacing together almost out of reflex. 

It's horrible. How something so wrong can feel that right. 

Valentino bites his lower lip, regretting the movement as soon as the Spaniard's gaze follows it. But his irises quickly lift again, contemplating him closely and making him forget everything he has around. Everything but Marc. 

The touch of their hands, the friction of their skin together is something Vale wants to remember forever; how the surface of his palm warms up and throws out sparks. He wonders if it is the same for the Honda rider. He really does. 

So many unspoken things are being exchanged between their eyes, as well. Things that neither of them has ever said out loud but that now can be comprehended perfectly. Is like a silent conversation, a mute message. The way Marc lets out how troubled he is through his gaze has Valentino almost hypnotized, making him unable of tearing his eyes away. 

He feels, nearly horrified, how his own body starts leaning in, how his limbs act on their own and move without his consent. But the fact that Marc is slowly reacting identically only makes it even more complicated.

Valentino's hairs stand on end as his scalp registers being touched, scrapped just the perfect way. He inhales abruptly as he sees the Spaniard's pulling him close, but in the end, not to kiss him. It almost doesn't feel right at the moment. But to bring their foreheads together, making everything in the world click and seem perfect just for a few seconds. It's an atmosphere he doesn't ever want to break. Although he probably should. 

But he doesn't need to take the argument with himself further, cause the sound of the door being opened does it for him. 

It would have been bad if Alex, or Emilio or even Santi had caught them in this moment. But the awfully, shocked way Marc's boyfriend is staring at them is absolutely much, much worse. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, loves! I'm so sorry for being disappeared for such a long time but these past weeks it has been hard to find the right moment to write, but FINALLY, here we have another chapter. I really hope you enjoy it and as usual, let me know what you think if you feel like it. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, sweethearts❤

 

The tension floating in the air could be cut with a knife. The flash of incredulity mixed with awfull hurt that reflects on Aaron's now terribly familiar eyes has Marc feeling like being kicked in the stomach.

His limbs react out of reflex, cause he's more than sure that they wouldn't have brought themselves far from Valentino easily if the movement had been done willingly. The worst thing, though, is that he still has the italian's distracting scent under his nose, clouding his senses, keeping him away from the correct thing to do or say in that moment. To be honest, he would have loved feeling the floor opening up to swallow him. If there has ever been a perfect moment for that, this is it.

But as a few torturous seconds pass and Marc comprehends that the miracle of disappearing isn't happening, he clears his throat, sensing the uncomfortable feeling of dryness on its walls, that for sure, are going to make his voice even weaker.

The first sound that falls from his mouth is some sort of gasp. He cringes, when the only words that his mind can come up with in that moment are the classic, awfully cliché; _this is not what it looks like_. And as every single time those words are used, they are obviously not true. Because yeah, it is exactly what it looks like. But, boy, what he wouldn't have given for Aaron to find out otherwise.

Clearing his throat once again, and feeling the blood on his veins increasing its pumping, resonating on his ears, Marc takes a step towards the younger boy, feeling a sensation of uneasiness that rivalries with the one he uses to experiment when he's about to start a race, an accumulation of feels he's always anxious to sense coming to an end.

He finds Aaron's blue eyes, with a deeply disappointed look that feels, again, like a raw punch on the stomach. If he could look at himself from outside, as another person, he suspects the expression would have been that.

"I...I...we" he cringes once again as his own incoherence, as if all of a sudden he had forgotten how to speak in his own language, but his mind isn't being fast enough today, at all.

Luckily, before a too embarrassing nonsense makes its way out his mouth, he's interrupted by the italian, although he's not sure that getting away from him is what he wants in this moment. Not like this, at least.

"I... probably should leave" his voice tone sounds extremely restrained and it makes Marc wonder if he really feels what he thinks he does, cause the look on his blue orbs clearly gives away that he wants to leave the situation like this as much as Marc would like to sing in that moment. Absolutely nothing at all. Nonetheless, he thinks is the best option, to be honest. Stirring it up further won't lead anywhere.

He silently follows his swift, brief movements through the corner of his eye, feeling his nostrils go crazy one last time as the italian's familiar perfume hits them once again, as a cruel, distracting farewell.

But the worst thing, though, is that last glance Valentino throws his way. Once again he sees so, so many things hidden there, behind the blue, knocking, desperate to be said. But it won't be now, neither anytime soon. An unexpected pang shakes Marc's heart when he remembers that he won't be seeing him until January.

How the hell is he supposed to handle, to bear that pressure that makes his limbs tremble and his heart clench for almost two months?

The thud of the metallic door closing make every fiber of his being flinch, waking him to reality in the driest way.

Of course, Aaron is still there, waiting, although Marc suspects neither of them know what for.

"Do you have anything to say or...?" The model's words sound way more balanced than the Repsol rider had expected they would. He wished he could had recomposed that easily, as well.

He takes a deep breath, in an attempt of putting all his chaotic thoughts in order. He tuggs at the hem of his hoodie, wrinkling the fabric and smothering it up again, creating a pattern of movement that can keep his hands distracted and his nerves occupied.

"I don't really think I have anything to say after that" the words fall out straight from his heart, they are the more honest sentences he can get out. What would be the point on lying anyway?

Aaron releases a heavy sigh, that feel like a true weight on Marc's shoulders.

"I can't say I didn't see it coming" a humourless laugh makes the boy's chest vibrate lightly, at the same time the Honda rider's head jerks up violently. Is he being serious?

The question must have reflected on his features more explicitly than he had intended, cause the expression that accompanies Aaron's words as he sits in the couch seem to answer the silently asked question perfectly.

"Come on, Marc. I just had to see the way you look at each other. It's not something hard to miss if you pay attention" he says staring blankly at the coffee table, as if reminiscing a past scene "I can't say I wasn't warned, though"

Marc's eyes widen at the confession, he takes a couple of hesitant steps towards the couch. What does he mean with warned?

Again, his facial expression must have done the work of his lately useless tongue.

"Your brother, he told me this could happen" the message leaves Aaron's mouth in between a long exhalation of breath, that is also filled with a resignation that makes Marc's eyebrows shoot up.

He really doesn't know how to feel regarding this new information. He doesn't know if he should feel relieved, concerned or angry. It's a complex mixture of them, he supposes.

The knot that has been tightening on his throat lessens a bit though, when he locks eyes with the younger. There is no trace on them of the frustration and betrayal he had expected to find. Nonetheless, he doesn't know why that resignation he does witness is so painful. Maybe because he would have given anything for him to be wrong, to say honestly that he's completely over a certain italian that won't get out of his head. But the true question is; why the heck did he thought this would work?

"I'm sorry" the sincere apology sounds rough, weak and like a condemn.

But he really is sorry. God, what he would have given for things to happen otherwise, to make things right.

"It's okay. Sometimes things aren't meant to work, you know" the words sound distant, as if Marc heard them from miles away. Cause they make him evoke a memory. It's not the first time he has listened them.

He had told them to himself. That infamous, horrible year that took away a connection he thought unbreakable. In that moment it had seemed the most suitable message and now here they are, two years later. The words are the same but the direction couldn't be more contradictory.

~*~

Surprisingly, the winter turns out to be easier than he thought. Once the fresh news of his breakup had sunk in, everything has transformed into a strange kind of normality, as confusing as it sounds.

He's never been more grateful for his busy agenda than these past weeks. The Allianz Motor Camp and the usual sponsorship commitments had kept him exactly that, busy.

What he needed.

And before he had realised, here he was, on a plane to Malaysia with Alex by his side, towards the first test of the 2018 season.

His knee follows a frantic rhythm, the movement venting the bomb of emotions that hides in his chest and threatens to explode if shaken too hard. He feels everything mixed together in a dangerous combination. The excitement to try the new bike, the pressure of defending the title...and last but not least, the bugging reminder that he's going to see Valentino again after that last unfortunate encounter two months ago, which he can't decide if is positive or negative.

"Stop" His little brother's hand poses forcefully on his knee, not succeeding at halting the nervous movement, that only ceases as Marc's brain gives the order.

"Sorry" he murmurs, twisting his phone in his hands, instead.

Marc absently scraps the leathery fabric of the airplane seat.

The breakup, though, hasn't been nearly as easy and freeing as he had expected it to be. Although he knows that in the end it was the right thing to do, he has realized how good of a distraction it was, as bad as it sounds. But these past cold weeks of winter he really as been trying to avoid the bugging, emptying feeling of failure. As if he had finally been proven that things will never work out for him.

While his brain stirs up the issue involuntarily, he can sense Alex's stare nailed on him even though his own eyes are too busy trying to find a spot worth looking at. And it is even heavier than it usually is.

"What are you going to do?" The question might have been too generic in any other situation, but right now it's impossible for him to misunderstand it.

He shrugs out of reflex, but managing to mirror the uncertainty he really feels. He doesn't even know how he's going to react if he finds himself close to the italian. It's extremely uncomfortable and unfamiliar to be flooded by that uncontrollable sensation. He really doesn't like not having everything tied up. Not one bit.

"Marc...you know how it ended the last time..." the worried tone emphasizes the sentence that Alex doesn't complete. But Marc doesn't need him to, the _are you going to fall for it again?_ is clearly there, even if his brother doesn't dare to say it out loud.

Nonetheless he keeps himself silent, trying to focus all his attention in the odd shapes of the clouds below them. He doesn't know either, what would be the right answer to Alex's statement.

~*~

In Sepang, the truth is; that, for the first time in weeks, Marc feels strangely happy.

And it's not only the relieving fact of being on his bike back again, of being on track, on the box, back on his natural environment. He simply has to recognize that although they have not exchanged a word, neither seen each other up close, seeing Valentino being competitive, seeing him excited with the possibilities of this new bike is enough to put him in a good mood.

But again, this is nothing new. He has never stopped to desire that things could go well for the italian, even when he had known it hasn't always been like that the other way around.

Still, he obliges himself to let go of it. He has decided that going with the flow is the best thing he can do. The winter has managed to cool down the topic, and his feelings as well. So it shouldn't be a problem anymore.

He slides a clean hoodie over himself, letting the pleasant scent of the fabric softener fill his nostrils. He casts a glimpse at the little window of his motorhome. It's getting dark, and the noise of the paddock if getting gradually lower, as well. Perfect timing for the needed walk he had been fantasizing about for the last couple of hours.

He lets the keys of his temporary house fall into the pockets of his faded jeans and hears the door closing behind him.

The Malaysian humidity makes him reconsider if putting on a hoodie was a good idea, but as soon as he can count twenty minutes walking he's glad that he had gone for a warmer piece of clothing. After several years traveling here and there, he has leaned that for sure, the night always brings down the temperatures, no matter what part of the world he is in.

The dark gravel cracks under the force of his soles, the palm of his hand lightly brushes the cold fence that surrounds the track as he realizes that he's approaching a certain spot of the race track that always manages to pour his deepest fears the hidden place on his chest he likes to keep them in.

Marco's tribute plaque projects the silvery glow of the moon, whose light is getting more and more intense as the day's one fades. But if the sight of it wasn't already enough, Marc soon recognizes the silhouette that is accompanying the commemorative homage.

He can't say that he's surprised, though. If he could have expected someone here at this hour that has to be him. He's tremendously tempted with the prospect of leaving as silently as he can, almost not able to disturb the sphere of intimacy the scene reflects.

But on the other hand, he's so drawn to what he's seeing that his feet don't make the slightest attempt of movement. He knows the italian has already sensed his presence, too, as his cap covered head leans to the side in an almost imperceptible gesture.

He's barely conscious when his legs start moving once again. The moment he leans on the rail and exhales the nightly air bring him back to reality all of a sudden. But he feels unusually calm. From all the ways he had imagined this reencounter, he had never thought he would feel this calm. But he's grateful. There's no need to bring things to the limit. He's sure it wouldn't make a favor to any of them.

A good amount of silent seconds pass, where they just drink in the moment. He feels that any kind of sound or attempt of a conversation would be disturbing, out of place. They simply stand there as long as they seem to need to settle down.

"Did you rest?" The words on the air only last a few milliseconds, the message concise and short. But his voice is something Marc doesn't know he had missed that much until he's able to hear it again.

"More or less" he sighs after a patiently kept silence. It's true, after all. The winter would have been much easier if the season hadn't finished the way it did, psychologically speaking "You?"

It's not a question made out of education neither compromise. He really wants to know how Valentino has been doing. He hadn't figured out, either, until that precise moment how bad he wants to know.

"Not as much as I would have liked" it's just a whisper, and Marc can't help but turn his gaze towards the Yamaha rider's profile.

It's more than evident that he's not the rider he used to watch with extreme admiration on the screen of his TV, is more than evident that he's no longer the idol he's grown up seeing. But somehow, he's aging in an almost imperceptible way that Marc considers absolutely beautiful. Cause he knows than inside the body, the person he's always been in awe with is still there.

Valentino still hasn't looked at him, his stunning blue eyes are still fixated on his friend's plaque. Marc tries to swallow the knot that is forming on his throat. The overwhelming sympathy he always has felt towards Simoncelli get ten times more intense with Vale by his side. Cause he knows how important Marco was for him. It's a combination of factors he doesn't know how to react to. He's never been good in these kind of situations.

"You know, everyone thinks I just want to win another championship because of the sake of having ten world titles, and for most people around me it's just that" Marc keeps on looking at him, trying to listen as attentively as he can to every single word. Cause Valentino looks relaxed, something he has missed seeing on the italian for this last couple of years. He looks almost as calm as all those afternoons they had spent talking when they were still friends. This was the body language he always adopted when he was about to share something personal with Marc. And the though alone of it has the Honda rider at the verge of trembling "But since 2011 all I have wanted is to dedicate it to Sic. He left when I was doing my worst...I want to show him, wherever he is, that I can still do it"

Marc bites his lower lip, bringing himself back to a reality he has disconnected from for as long as Valentino's words have lasted.

It's the most inspiring thing he has heard in a long time. And what makes it even more valuable, is how sincere it sounds.

"And you will" it reaches the exterior hoarse, and definitely weak but it manages to finally drag Valentino's piercing gaze towards him, knocking the air out of his lungs and almost enabling him of letting the next sentence out "I have no doubt of that"

And he really hasn't.

The italian's expression softens so much Marc thinks they are back in 2013. When Vale used to look at him with a curiosity and a fondness that every single time lightened his body up with excitement.

Exactly what he feels now.

It's incredible, how things change that easily from one day to another and then almost come back to the same, as well. Even though he knows that things will never be the same between them.

Silence floods the air all over again. But it feels everything but empty. Cause their eyes had found each other now and the connection seems impossible to break. Marc observes slowly every single detail on the Yamaha rider's familiar features, until he comes back to the eye contact and senses the hair on his arms stand on end. They have never needed words with certain matters, and he discovers, amazed, that they still don't.

The italian is eying him with some kind of wonder, that for sure is the result of Marc's message of blind trust. He really wants him to know that he sees the italian absolutely capable of archiving anything, and even more if he has such deep motivation to do it.

Maybe is not what Valentino had expected, but it's how he sees it, and there is no point on denying it anymore.

"This might be my last year..." as soon as the sentence is pronounced the Repsol rider feels his eyes stinging, cause he suspects that it's as hard for the italian to say it as it is for him to hear it. Absolutely shattering.

"I'm sure it won't" It can't.

It's not the first time he's terrified by the single idea of it. Cause he definitely can't imagine a race without Valentino on the grid. He had experimented it on Misano's latest race, and it had felt so foreign he's not sure he can go through it again. He'll have to get used to it, one day. But not yet. Please, not yet.

Something on Vale's vivid glance twitches, as if he enjoyed the prospect of Marc missing him. If only he knew... _Bastard_.

"It's good to be back, though. Really missed this" he takes his nimble fingers towards his earring, grazing it, in that oh so typical gesture of him.

"Yeah" he simply cannot disagree. This winter has seemed eternal.

"They say that keeping up with your routine is the best thing you can do to get over a breakup" if he had been drinking anything, Marc is sure he would have chocked and spilled the liquid all over the floor. But the worst thing is that Valentino seems to find his bewilderment pretty amusing, cause his harmonious features doesn't take long to adopt that cocky, gleeful expression that is also so characteristic of him.

"Jerk" the word gets out almost nearly without his permission, and laced with an affection that even surprise Marc himself. But the smirk it pulls out from Valentino's lips is definitely worth it.

"I'm really sorry, by the way" the italian incorporates, standing on his full height and taking a few steps closer to Marc that already have his heart hammering against his ribcage.

"Sure you are" he has to take a few seconds to put on a neutral face that doesn't give away how much that naughtiness on Vale's face is affecting him.

The dim light of the moon makes his eyes stand out even more than they usually do and Marc finds himself absolutely incapable of tearing his gaze away.

The italian blinks a few times, his staring burning Marc to the bone. A spark shakes his limbs, cause despite his words, he knows that the italian feels everything but sorry about the breakup.

Nonetheless, before he can say anything, Valentino brushes his hand over the plaque with infinite fondness and moves away, starting to walk towards the paddock once again, but of course, leaving behind him a perfume that Marc has grown to know very well.

"Now that I'm no longer taken I suppose I'm going to lose the interesting factor"  
He lets out in one last attempt of getting some kind of reaction out of Vale. Time to be crystal clear. He's tired of feigning that nothing has happened.

The italian's steps come to a halt midway, and Marc is already bracing for a sassy reply, but as he turns around and rearranges his cap's position, his grin seems more knowing than ever before.

"I hardly find that likely to ever happen" his enchanting italian accent stands out thicker than normally and Marc doesn't know is he's more mesmerized by it or by the nerve-wrecking meaning of the words.

Still, he can't help the smile that stretches his lips as he sees Valentino disappear. And again, it's confusing, cause this is far from what he has expected to face as a reencounter, after what happened the last time they have seen each other. But somehow this playful atmosphere has calmed him down significantly.

Maybe, for once in his life, he should stop racing and take things slower. A new season was about to begin, and he would have to wait see what it would bring. He has to recognize, tough, tonight was a very unexpected but promising beginning. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

_**Buriram, Thailand. February 16th** _

His brain has been awake for more than ten minutes, still, he refuses to open his eyes. Is one of those times he has woken up thinking he's in his ranch's bed, safe and alone. But as soon as he blindly moves a limb, his body registers that he's indeed in his well-known motorhome.

He feels strange, though. Cause he's in a strange track, a new circuit he hasn't gotten used to. It's extremely rare. As if being a rookie all over again. Which, coming back to the present, couldn't contradict more today's meaning, in the first place.

It was the last thing that came across his mind yesterday night and it's the first thing that comes up once he's gotten away from sleep.

His head is already hurting, encouraging his fingertips to move until they are against his temples, massaging almost painfully hard, desperately wishing for that uneasy feeling to disappear.

Valentino doesn't know how many minutes have passed when he hears the door being opened hastily. As he expected, Uccio's familiar voice resonates all over the place.

"Hey, you should be already up" the usual phrase is not the first thing he had waited to hear this morning, but he's almost thankful for the glimpse of normality. It renews his hope in the fact that maybe no one remembers "By the way, happy birthday!"

There you go. Deep down he knew he wouldn't be that fortunate. He finally opens his eyes, not feeling fully prepared to face the world yet, but nonetheless, finding himself obliged to do it. How far were those days when he had waited anxiously for this day, how bad he wanted to be a bit older, a bit more mature...and now...what he wouldn't give for time to freeze. He can't help but feel that lately, it has been running more than usual.

"Thanks" he manages to reply, throat still sore from sleep and eyelids going up and down involuntarily, trying in vain to adjust to the aggressive light that now floods the room. He doesn't think there is anything that bothers him more than the way his friend his opening up the curtains. He wants to bury himself in the sheets and not wake up until tomorrow.

"Hurry up, breakfast in fifteen minutes" Uccio urges, coming to a halt under the doorway and throwing him one last glance, that today is accompanied by an unusual lopsided grin that looks extremely foreign on him "See you in the hospitality, grandpa"

His hand takes a hold of the nearest pillow and throws it towards his so-called friend almost out of reflex. The other italian simply chuckles as he closes the door again.

With a sigh, he finally sits up on the mattress, rubbing his hands all over his face, trying to ignore the new wrinkles he knows weren't there last year.

Not wanting to torture himself even further, he removes the sheets off his body and makes his way towards the bathroom. It's not the end of the world, just one year more. But...why does it feel as if the time was running out?

~*~

He would have liked to say that the day hadn't been as bad as he has expected, but no, it's even worse.

In this new track he feels like a fish out of water. He feels as if this wasn't a serious test. As if they simply were trying new things, that, to make everything even better (note the sarcasm) don't work.

It is as if the Sepang test and this one were separated by years, rather than weeks. Nothing worked the way it was supposed too. He was still behind the Ducatis, and let's not talk, then, about Honda.

He didn't even know, at this point, if seeing Maverick struggle as much as him with the bike was positive or negative.

" _Tanti auguri_ , Vale" it must be umpteenth time he nods politely and shows a little smile to thank the wish. His team doesn't deserve his shitty mood, after all.

He's trying to dry out the sticky sweat from the back of his neck when the lateral screen of the box floods with orange and he finds himself staring at a certain spaniash rider that is happily chatting with his crew chief.

Marc's eyes shine for the briefest second as he shows one of those gorgeous smiles of him. He's the personification of vitality and youth, Vale thinks. And it couldn't counteract more how his own feelings are today.

He clears his throat and takes his helmet, wanting nothing more than to be on track right now. The only place where he truly feels himself. No birthdays, no years, nothing more to focus on than the path to follow.

~*~

  
The day seems to be ending the way it started. Badly. And leaving him more worried than he would have liked. It's as if they had gone backwards on the electronic of the bike and everyone else, on the contrary, was one step ahead. It's frustrating, because right now, Valentino sees himself completely incapable of finding a suitable solution.

He pushes the plate back, leaving most of its initial content there, and positively earning a glare from Uccio. Don't take him wrong, he really appreciates that the cooks of Yamaha had prepared his favourite dishes, he really appreciates being surrounded by his closest friends and his beloved team. He appreciates the effort, more than he probably lets out for them to see but he really doesn't feel like celebrating. At all.

After receiving another brief round of sceptical looks he simply shrugs.

"I'm really not hungry" he shows a little smile, probably the fakest one he has articulated in a long time. But his body is desperately asking for peace and relax, he can't stand the tension anymore. Plus, he's more than sure that his stomach won't take another bite, and he would probably end up getting rid off the tiny amount of dinner he has had "I think I'm going to bed, I'm really tired"

This time all the eyes in the table turn towards him, and he's tempted by the idea of stepping back and staying a little longer. But he knows he would end up regretting it, and it would leave him more drained than he already is.

Dedicating them another apologetic grin, he pushes his chair back, almost cringing at the noise, and finally manages to gather the courage to leave the hospitality. He feels really bad for leaving like this, but he can't bring himself to feign that he's happy for another single minute. He just needs rest, and the day to end.

The walk towards his motorhome relaxes him a little bit, though. The paddock is almost in complete silence and it gets to ease his anxiety significantly. He really can't decide when he likes it better, on Sunday, when it beats with the atmosphere of the race, or right now, when everything is in peace. He would be totally unable to choose.

Once he puts a foot on the motorhome and his ears register the little thud of the door closing, he feels finally safe, glad that he no longer needs to put on the facade.

The following half an hour passes by slowly. He moves without a clear purpose, he puts on some sweatpants and an old basic shirt. Absently, as if not keeping track of what his hands are doing. Once he's comfy, he heads towards the couch and let himself fall on it heavily. He could have gone to bed, but he knows himself well enough to be sure than he wouldn't find any sleep just yet. He would probably toss and turn in between the sheets until he would finally give up and try to occupy his mind with something else.

Surprisingly, sleep is slowly getting the best of him, at least until a sudden knock violently wakes him up. He's disoriented for a second, blinking frantically, not sure if what he has heard is real or he has been already dreaming. He waits for another signal, that, effectively, after a few uncertain seconds, arrives. He curses under his breath, condemning anyone who dares to disturb him at this hour. He glances quickly at the clock, the green, neon digits giving away that it's almost midnight.

He rubs the back of his neck, sore after the unhealthy position he has been in over the couch. If it's Uccio, checking up on him again he swears he's sending him to hell. He really isn't in the mood to deal with anyone more today.

But what he finds at the other side of the door is definitely the last thing he would have expected tonight. A pair of intense, dark eyes that he knows too well stare back at him, inquisitive, waiting, expectant.

It feels as if his body has been reactivated by electric bolts. All the sleepiness seems to abandon his mind in a millisecond, dissolving the fog that had clouded his brain. Valentino doesn't even waste time looking for a reason for Marc to be right here, right now. His arm moves almost without his consent and before he knows it, he has pulled the Spaniard inside, closing the door once again, away from prying eyes.

He takes a rapid look at the younger rider. He's clad in one of those Pull&Bear hoodies with his initials and a pair of sweats, as if he had been in the same scenario that Vale just a few minutes ago, if his unlaced sneakers are anything to go by.

Marc looks back at him, with, if he's not mistaken, the vague hint of a smile playing on his lips. They spend a couple of seconds simply staring at each other, as if it was the only way to explain what was happening.

"What are you doing here?" The words leave his mouth harshly, result of not using his voice in a while, and the shock of finding himself in this situation, with the person that has been plaguing his thoughts for the two weeks they have been apart.

He really doesn't know how to label his feelings for Marc now. For sure, he would be lying if he said he hadn't fought a smile when he had found out that the Spaniard and his ex-boyfriend had broken up. It was a mixture of happiness, relief and guilt all together. But now, and after their last, pretty flirty conversation in Sepang, Valentino couldn't help but feel that everything had backfired and the younger was the one calling the shots. This bold visit only proves his theory.  
But, to be honest, Marc is probably the only person in the whole world that he wouldn't kick out. Not even today.

"I couldn't sleep" those dark irises travel fast all over the motorhome's living room, as if they were searching in their surroundings something to fix their attention in "Besides, I remembered I hadn't congratulated you. Couldn't get away with that, could I?"

The little bastard has the nerve to smirk, the playful gesture traveling up his features until it becomes a sparkle in his eyes.

Valentino keeps himself silent, slightly taken aback by the words. This is definitely a proper birthday surprise. Something he wouldn't have imagined in a million years. But given that it is really happening, he's for sure not going to waste the opportunity.

"Want something to drink?" He invites before a warning makes it to his brain. He's already tired of overthinking and his mind for sure deserves a break.

The Spaniard simply shrugs, which Vale can only take as a yes. Both of them could definitely use a distraction right now.

Wordlessly, he gets to the fridge and fetches a couple of beer bottles. Screw tomorrow's practice. If he's finally going to kind of celebrate his birthday, he's going to do it properly.

He heads towards the couch area, letting the crystal of the bottles cling against the coffee table's surface. The Honda rider doesn't seem to need an invitation, his movements as natural as if he was in his own house. Valentino can't help but grin slightly at that. It has always been one of the things he adored of Marc, how their connection had translated into this relaxed environment. At least, it used to be that way. Before 2015, of course.

Now is not the moment to reminisce that, though, maybe it should never be. Not anymore. That belongs to the past and the italian, for once, really wants it to stay there.

"Feeling old already?" He hears the Spaniard tease. He knows perfectly that his age has never bothered Marc. The temporal gap between them never important neither conditioning. It has always been kind of his thing. Even though some of the Academy boys were closer to Marc's age, they have always made him feel as Valentino, their big brother.

However with the Repsol rider, he has always felt as just Vale. Maybe it was another of the things that only the younger has managed to bring out of him. He doesn't remember being with anyone else more his honest, true self than with Marc.

Perhaps, that was what attracted him that much.

"Nah, not really. You're not going to get rid of me that easily" he murmurs, swallowing a brief gulp of the bottle's content. The odd thing is, that he feels much better, he even finds Marc's comment kind of funny, something that this morning would have been completely impossible. "Besides, you are the one to talk"

He points at the clock that rests over the TV, successfully conveying that it's past midnight, the calendar switching to February 17th. His fellow rider's day.

Marc dedicates him one of the tiniest but most sincere smiles he has ever seen him articulate.

"You remembered it" it's barely a whisper, laced with a hint of wonder Valentino would have never expected to find there, but that, he must admit, it's pretty adorable. As a mocking contradictory, it makes the Spaniard seem much, much younger.

But how could he forget it? He doubts he would have forgotten even if it had been any other time of the year, let alone the following day to his. He had always thought it was like a fate thing, such an strange coincidence.

Without realizing it, his eyes keep themselves fixated on Marc. Tonight, he looks tired too, must been a hard day too, but he's more than sure that with that talent the Spaniard has he'll on the top of the times sooner than later. He's sure.

He takes another sip of the beer, finally leaving it empty. It's nice, he finally feels comfortable and completely relaxed. Who could have wondered, with him, out of everyone else.

"Can I tell you something?" Marc suddenly asks, his gaze not leaving the crystal bottles he keeps on twirling between his fingers. Must be already empty, too.

 _Anything_ , Valentino wants to reply, but he doesn't dare to say it out loud, he simply hopes the glance he's throwing at Marc speaks by itself.

"Lately I've been a little afraid of this day arriving" he leans forward and delicately places the fragile container on the table. His voice it's much lower than it tends to be, but Valentino loves it at this volume. It makes everything feel more intimate "I feel that everything is going too fast"

The confession couldn't be more ironic, Vale thinks. The words "too fast" and "afraid" leaving a motogp racer's mouth sound like a bad joke. But, unfortunately, he can relate. Cause that's exactly how he feels too.

"I know" he pronounces, finally attracting Marc's eye contact. His gaze shines with something Vale can't name, but that makes his hair stand on end, as if sparks travelled through the air.

"But then, here I am. With you, out of everyone, in my birthday. As a kid, I wouldn't even have dared to dream about this" the Spaniard whispers, now looking intensely at Vale, as if expecting some kind of reaction to make the next move "Sometimes I'm still afraid it's not real"

The day has been too long and right know his brain it's pretty much denying service. But his body seems more awake than ever, craving something he wouldn't even know how to call. But finally, he decides to give in to it. He's tired of putting on the brakes on everything.

Before his head has taken note of what he's doing, he had already leaned towards Marc, who doesn't seem any other signal to lounge forward and crash his lips against his. Valentino can't compare the feeling to anything else. It's as special and fulfilling as winning a race, but multiplied, the electric shocks overwhelmingly amplified when he senses the younger responding to every movement.

Marc's hand bury itself in his hair, waking up every single fiber on his body. The contact is intense and demanding, but not bruising neither violently. It wouldn't feel right. But this is more than enough to set him on fire. It would never cease to amaze him, how slow and lingering Marc's movements can be when he wants to. It's like a hidden part of him only he gets to sense and it's overpowering.

Finally they reluctantly break apart in order to breath properly. Before he has time to come back from this little break of reality, the younger's eyes are already on him.

"Do you want me to leave?" It's a murmured question but it almost sounds like a plea. He nearly smirks. As if he could have denied anything to Marc.

Instead of answering he simply lies back on the couch, leaving a space besides him that he hopes it's invitating enough. And the Spaniard doesn't seem to need anything else, crawling against him almost instantly.

It might have been unimaginable a few months ago. Completely impossible. But he feels that right now, they are in balance. Finally. He wouldn't know what name this deserves to be put, but it feels like enough. It's all he needed today. Maybe it will matter in the morning, but not now.

Time will never change that. The fact that no matter how bad things turn out to be between them. An unbreakable bond always seems to remind there, managing to surface in the most unsuspected moments. I can go wrong again, of course. But tonight he doesn't want to question it further, cause Marc's face is peacefully buried on his shoulder and he's more than sure that with the constant, rhythmical blowing of the younger's soft breath against his neck, he's going to fall asleep pretty easily.

To be honest, he can't imagine a better way to celebrate than this. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading <3
> 
> I'll probably add another chapter to this story at the end of this week. But please, don't hesitate on letting me know what you think if you feel like it. Once again, thank you❤


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